


The Trouble With Jersey (Working title)

by techieturnover



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Please Forgive me, filed under: fics I wrote at 11:30 while avoiding my real responsibilities, i fell asleep in a taxi and now im in jersey watching pawn stars au, past bucky/nat, stupid tumblr prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/techieturnover/pseuds/techieturnover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr post and written to avoid being an adult. "Fell asleep in the back of a taxi. No one woke me up. Now I'm  back at the taxi driver's house in Newark watching Pawn Stars." I'm not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Jersey (Working title)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://im-the-punk-who.tumblr.com/post/114008601673/princeowl-imagine-your-otp) and a very excited anon. Blame tumblr.

Steve wakes up disoriented. He can’t remember where he is or what he was doing when he fell asleep but there’s a tv show he doesn’t recognize on in the background and he’s pretty sure he didn’t go home with a trick, so he probably fucked up. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to take stock of the situation.

Right. He’d been in a taxi, Brock had convinced him to come out to a bar with them after his show even though he’d been so tired he could barely stand. He remembered getting into the taxi and resting his head against the window...maybe he was at Brock’s house? By now he’s determined he’s definitely on a couch - comfortable but probably not very expensive - and the sounds of someone eating softly to his left clue him in that someone else is in the room. And that whoever had gotten him out of the taxi had covered him with a blanket. A quick stock of his person reveals his phone pushing into the thigh he’s laying on and he thinks that’s his wallet still in his back pocket. 

Steve opens his eyes, making as little noise and movement as possible. The room he’s in is lit by an overhead light in a different room and the tv; there’s a guy that’s definitely not Brock sitting in a chair eating from a microwave dinner tray. Steve feels his heart simultaneously rise in his throat and sink in his stomach. This definitely isn’t one of the guys he’d gone drinking with, and this definitely isn’t Brock’s dark-walled apartment. There’s something familiar about the guy though, something nagging at the back of Steve’s still sleep and alcohol infused brain. 

The taxi driver. 

Steve remembers Brock had made a comment about how maybe they shouldn’t trust a guy who only had one arm to drive in Manhattan. Apparently he’d trusted the guy enough to leave Steve with him when they’d gotten to where they were going.

After vowing to never drink with Brock again Steve tries to get up, but pins and needles race up his side and he gasps at the sensation - which in turn freezes the lungs he’d been crushing as he slept on his side. He’s breathing shallowly when the guy gets up from his chair and kneels down beside the couch. “You okay, man?” Steve can’t answer. He focuses on his breathing and not on the pins and needles still stabbing him every time he moves his left arm; more stimulation is hardly what his lungs need. The guy gets up and gets a glass of water, clearly at a loss for what to do as Steve slowly convinces his lungs to function again. He rolls onto his back and uses the arm not still tingling to pull himself up into a sitting position, takes the water the guy offers him and sips lightly. It’ll do for now and he hopes his jacket is still around somewhere. Waking up like this usually means he’s in for an attack later, and the last he saw of his inhaler it was in his jacket. “You okay?” the guy repeats and this time Steve is able to nod an answer.

“Yeah. I just slept wrong.” He looks at the guy and has to remind himself to breathe for another second that has nothing wrong with how he slept. 

A handsome - if preoccupied and worried - face looks back at him framed by sleek dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, the guy’s lips parting for a second before he breaks eye contact. 

“Sorry, that was probably my fault. I drove around for like half an hour after my shift ended hoping you’d wake up but you were out. You fall asleep in the back of taxis often?”

Steve knows his cheeks are flaming. “I can’t believe my friends didn’t wake me up when they left. I’m really...listen I can pay you. I can pay you for whatever I owe you and catch a bus back.”

“So you can fall asleep on the bus?” The guy scoffs, and if it weren’t for something that’s obviously trying to be humor Steve would be offended. Also if the guy wasn’t right - he’s still groggy. “My name’s James. You’re in Newark - yeah, New Jersey. No buses running this late at night.” Steve swears. Of course if he’s going to be stuck, at least he’s not dead. But he’s in New Jersey. He rubs his head and sticks out a hand.

“I’m Steve. I really appreciate you not killing me or selling my organs on the black market.” James laughs, and Steve tries really hard not to like the sound. 

“No problem. It’s not often I get guys to come back to my place. Jersey phobia.” 

“Well they’re not wrong,” Steve replies, made bold enough by the tenuous hope he might have made a friend to actually talk to James. There’s something about the guy that makes him comfortable, like he isn’t being judged. He thinks maybe it has something to do with the missing arm and the shit James probably gets for it, but maybe not. 

“Hey only people from New Jersey can make fun of New Jersey.” James says with mock offense. “Besides, you’re the one who fell asleep in a strange guy’s car. By the way, maybe don’t do that next time. I know I’ve got a trustworthy face but you could have actually gotten into trouble.” 

Steve snorts. “Thanks for the concern, James.” It comes out snider than he means, but there’s something about people pretending to care about his well being that always puts Steve on the offensive. It might also have something to do with the fact the last person to show him affection left him in the back of a random taxi. He’s going to kick Brock’s ass the next time he sees him; the broken ribs he’ll probably get in return will be completely worth it. “I’ll make sure to remember that next time I get in a taxi with people I think I can trust.” 

“Those were your friends?” James asks dubiously. “I’m starting to think you need to re evaluate who you hang around.”

“You and me both. Look. I appreciate what you did. Really. But can you just...tell me what I owe you and where I am? I can have my friend - a real friend - pick me up.” Steve digs his cell phone out of his pocket, wincing at the bruise he knows is going to have formed from sleeping on it, and texts Sam. He might not be awake, but Natasha probably will be. James has left and gone into the kitchen and Steve hears the sound of the fridge opening, then the microwave starting. 

“You’re at one seventy five South Seventh Street in Newark. First floor apartment,” James’ voice echoes from the other room. “It’s right by the Rutgers Biomedical Center, if your friend knows where that is.” Steve’s phone buzzes and it’s a message from Nat but Sam’s number. He replies with the address and adds 

_Take your time. I’m not in danger, just kind of awkward hanging out with this random cab driver who is surprisingly hot and nice._

_We’ll make sure to drive slow and obey all traffic signals,_ is Nat’s reply. He snorts as the ding of the microwave sounds from the kitchen. James returns with a second microwave dinner. 

“You hungry? I figured you might be...it’s okay if you don’t want it though.” James looks strangely, almost nervous, and Steve is grateful for the offer. He knows his body well enough that he’s going to be suffering soon if he doesn’t eat, especially since he didn’t take his meds tonight. 

“Thanks,” he says and takes the tray. There’s meat that’s supposed to be steak he thinks, green beans and mashed potatoes. His stomach falls, but he feels bad refusing the food now that he’s already accepted it. 

“Is there - shit you’re a vegetarian aren’t you.” Steve makes a face and apologizes but James brushes him off. “No it’s my fault. I think I have a veggie one in there somewhere-”

“No, it’s fine. I can just eat the other stuff. I appreciate the hospitality.” James surprises him by sitting next to him on the sofa, close enough that his warmth radiates next to Steve’s side. 

“How about we share it?” Steve nods, the memories of the few and far between times he’s tried flirting screaming at him to take what he thinks James is offering. They settle into the couch and Steve turns half his attention to the tv.

“What. Exactly are we watching?” he asks, picking at the green beans with his fork. 

“Have you really never seen Pawn Stars?” James replies and Steve looks again at the screen before remembering a reference Natasha had made to the show once. “It’s kind of like American Pickers, right?” 

“Sort of,” James says with a noncommittal nod. “Same genre. It’s a good show to zone out to so I watch it a lot after work. Plus I like the historical value, cheesy as it is.”

“I don’t have a tv, but my friends Sam and Nat - they should be here in about half an hour, by the way, - love these kinds of shows.” 

“Glad to know some of your friends have good taste. You aren’t going to go out again with those douchebags who left you tonight are you?” 

“You sound a little bit too invested in my safety.” Steve retorts, even though he has no intention of listening to anything Brock suggests ever again. If he’s honest he should have known better in the first place. “But no I’m not. Even if they live through the beating Natasha is going to give them.” James laughs and Steve turns away from the tv to look at him, trying to stomp down his growing attraction. He’s trying to take this just for what it is, not what he hopes it could be.

They fall into a comfortable silence, both of them picking from the quickly cooling plastic tray of food settled on their laps. At some point James’ arm falls around Steve’s shoulders and it’s nice. This is nice, Steve decides as the next episode starts, and it’s somewhat reluctantly that he answers his phone when it rings. 

“Those your people?” James asks and Steve isn’t sure it’s just his imagination that puts the disappointment there. Steve nods and gets up as James takes the tray from between them. 

He’s in the kitchen when Steve opens the door for Nat and Sam to come in. “I see you’re still alive and thoroughly unravished. Should we drive around the block?” Steve rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He’s trying hard enough not to be disappointed that he’s probably not going to see James again. For all they seemed to get along, he’s pretty used to how this goes. 

“Can you guys just wait here? I wanna say thanks, then we can go.” He heads back into the kitchen where James is somewhat meticulously cleaning the single fork they’d used, scrubbing it with his one hand between a sponge. He looks up when Steve enters and smiles. Steve grabs his wallet and fishes two twenties out. “Thanks again for. Not being a creeper. If this doesn’t cover what I owe you I can get you more.” 

James shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Steve. Honestly I was glad for the company. If you wanna repay me just promise you’re not gonna do whatever happened tonight that ended with you falling asleep in a cab.” 

Steve keeps holding out the twenties. He doesn’t want to be a pity case to James, even though he’s never going to see him again probably. “I won’t, but please let me pay you.”

James shakes his head again, looking both thoughtful and nervous, biting his lip. Steve’s breathe catches a little bit even as he tries to shove the thought of biting at James’ lips with his own teeth down. “Listen, if you wanna repay me...how about a movie later this week, your treat?” 

The hitch comes back and Steve yells at every force in the universe about how he’s not going to have an asthma attack because a hot guy asked him out on a date. 

James takes the silence for refusal, his face falling as he starts apologizing, but Steve cuts him off. “That’d be great.” Damn, but he’s in trouble for that smile.

“Great. I’ll...” James wipes his still soapy hand on his jeans and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give you my number, and we can figure out a day?” Steve nods, typing James’ number into his phone as they head back into the living room where Sam and Nat have clearly been listening in. Nat looks pensive and Sam looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Steve raises an eyebrow at the both of them, but they just head towards the door. 

Steve turns to James, whose his eyes are fixed on Natasha. Steve is starting to get the feeling there’s something going on he doesn’t know about but Nat won’t meet his eye - she has that look she gets when she’s about to tell a really terrible pun - and James looks like he’s a little bit squeamish. 

Steve is worried. 

“Do you two know each other?” 

“In a manner of speaking -” James starts, and Natasha smiles wider.

“I’ll tell you in the car,” she interrupts. “It’s almost five in the morning.” Steve looks back to James, who only nods. Sam and Natasha turn to leave, Nat giving an oddly flirtatious wave at James as he raises his eyebrows at her in a pointed look. Steve has had just about enough of the secret, but James grabs his arm before he leaves.

“Sorry I -. If she doesn’t explain text me and I will. I’m really looking forward to our date. Don’t -. Don’t let any other taxi drivers take you to their houses until then, okay?” 

“Gee, I’ll try my hardest,” Steve says, but he’s more comfortable in the knowledge James doesn’t want to hide whatever connection he and Nat have. 

“And. Steve? My friends call me Bucky.” 

“Bucky. Got it. I’ll see you around, Bucky.” He might be smiling like an idiot, but it’s not a bad thing he supposes, as he heads out to where Sam and Nat are waiting in the car. He looks back at the house as they drive away and his grin widens when he sees Bucky waving from his front porch.

Maybe Jersey isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
